


Origin

by Chaostructure



Category: Tron: Uprising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 04:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17594687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaostructure/pseuds/Chaostructure
Summary: Dyson's origin before he was brought onto Flynn's Grid.





	Origin

Like all of the residents of the server, Dyson had seen it happen a multitude of times: a program would enter the I/O tower and never come back out. Their User had determined that their function was no longer needed, and erased them from the system. It was never mentioned; programs simply accepted it as the will of the Users - in the best interest of the server, of their own continued existence - and avoided talking about it.

Having been written as a security program, his own relationship with the Users was somewhat different. He was loyal to them, of course... Unlike most programs, however, his purpose couldn’t always be carried out through unquestioning obedience. Sometimes a User unknowingly or mistakenly gave a malevolent or physically incompatible program the permissions to the system. In those instances, it was Dyson’s responsibility - and that of all soldiers - to refuse their decision, and to inform them of the problem.

Still, he believed that while they made mistakes from time to time - they could hardly be expected to keep track of all goings-on across all servers at all times - the Users were helpful, productive deities, and they were to be respected. They knew what was in the best interest of the system; they did what was needed to keep it running smoothly... Of course they did; why wouldn’t they?

Programs were removed from the system when they could no longer perform their functions. It was logical and orderly. It had never occurred to the soldier that he would be replaced by a new and inexperienced security program while he still carried out his purpose dutifully to the highest standard.

Somehow, that was exactly what had happened to him.

The new security program had arrived on the server a sixth of a cycle ago.

\---

He forced himself to lift his right foot and place it in front of his left, his left in front of his right; over and over although he could not be certain that he had indeed reached a different location in the past microcycle. He was surrounded by blackness, occasionally cut through by strips of harsh white light that appeared on the smooth surface on which he walked... They flickered in and out, disappearing as suddenly as he could notice them, and this occurred at regular enough intervals that the wandering soldier could not be certain whether it was the same strip of light, or a new one each time. As he took his next step, the voxels comprising the floor glitched and separated slightly, giving off a quiet crackling noise and several thin, geometric sparks of light-- was Dyson noticing this for the first time, or had it been a regular occurrence in his endless journey through this dark corridor?

He could no longer be certain.

_Eventually, the Users will set things right._

That was what the security program told himself, over and over. The fact that he was going to be replaced had come as a shock, but it wasn’t unnatural. Users replaced programs all the time. The system in this state, though-- surely they wouldn’t leave it like this for much longer...?

Something hit the security program hard and sent him sprawling to the ground - a barricade of some sort? He felt the pressure wave through his entire body, yet when he looked up, there was nothing there-- more darkness, more static. He reached out, expecting his fingers to brush against a solid surface despite the lack of visual evidence that an object blocked his path. He found... nothing. His surroundings were as still and empty as they had always been since he found himself in this derelict place. _Had there been something there_ , he wondered? Was he perhaps running low on energy, so that he had simply collapsed? With no way to answer that query, he stood and continued walking.

The constant static that surrounded him had ceased to be harsh and painful. It was always there, and Dyson was accustomed to it, as one is accustomed to the weight of their limbs. He kept going-- his purpose, his directive, was to protect the system, and if _this_ was all that was left to protect, he would protect it nonetheless...

The ground never did feel completely solid in this place - whatever was left of the system - he’d long become accustomed to the feeling of voxels giving slightly, shifting under his boots with each step he took... This was, however, the first time that he became aware of the sensation of falling through open space. More static cut through the environment around him; the air felt charged with electricity, the electrons themselves on edge...

Dyson landed hard. Unprepared, his legs gave out from under him, and he found himself lying face-down on a surface that glowed pure white. Everything around him hummed and vibrated with excess electricity. He stood and squinted, but couldn’t make out a shape in this newfound environment-- blackness and static had been replaced by endless whiteness and unrefined energy.

He called out-- did he really, or had he only _thought_ about doing so? It was difficult to be certain with the lack of environmental feedback, coupled with the fact that he hadn’t seen another program since the collapse of the system... _They must be trapped in another partition_ , he thought. _I’ll find them._

_I’ll find them._

The soldier pushed himself to his feet and continued walking into the nothingness.

\---

_How long have I been here?_

_Surely I have to run out of energy at some point, right? Or the system will--_

_...eventually, I will simply... go offline, and disintegrate..._

It showed no sign of happening in the foreseeable future.

Perhaps this had always been the only existence that Dyson had known. His memories of the system before this - of order, of duty, even of being replaced - were fractured and distant, so distant... The only thing that remained real to him was the desolation of his surroundings _._

If the system he had known was real, surely the Users wouldn’t have... _forgotten_ about it like this... right?

How could they?

\---

A bipedal form ran past him. Dyson turned abruptly, but saw nothing-- had that been another program? Where had it gone? Though he could no longer see it - or even convince himself with certainty that it had been real - the security program found himself running in the direction that the form had gone.

He was standing exactly where he'd started-- or was he? Surroundings looked so near identical, only separated by minute differences in patterns of recurring glitches, bursts of static or electrical sparking... He could only say that the energy here felt familiar somehow. At this moment, however, the soldier saw something that had definitely not been there before: another program.

That was, if it could be called that.

It was a masculine figure, wearing the standard black grid-suit with white circuits and holding a data-pad. Its face looked intently at something - or nothing - in front of it. Unlike an ordinary program, however, it was transparent-- its body flickered like a hologram, the continuity of its form interrupted by pixellation glitches and the same bursts of static that regularly traveled through this place.

Dyson had seen something like this in his past life, as he had now come to think of it... Occasionally, the data that made up a program became damaged or corrupted, or perhaps a User went through an incorrect process when attempting to upgrade or delete the program.The result was a shell of a program that existed on the system in a glitched, damaged form such as this. Sometimes they were nearly complete, aware, even capable of continuing to perform their duties - an ordinary program with a glitching arm or leg that flickered in and out of a corporeal state. Other times, they were more like this-- 

...lifeless, holographic manifestations of their former selves which wandered aimlessly in search of nothing in particular.

Very rarely, a glitched program became a threat to the system or its resources, and he or another security program would have to take action against them.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” 

Dyson ran to the program. He reached out as though to touch it, but stopped short - he knew that the glitched form lacked true physical substance. He was by no means a medical program, nor an expert in resolving system data discrepancies, but he had seen the glitch enough times to know that the damage to this program was quite severe. He doubted that the distorted holographic manifestation would be able to understand or answer him. Still, he had to try.

As he suspected, the glitched program did not react to his presence or words. It continued staring off into the distance, occasionally shifting its feet or its grip on the data-pad that it held. 

The former security program didn’t know how long he had been standing in the same place when the form eventually crackled with static and flickered out. This time it did not return.

He waited - he couldn’t say for how long, but he waited - the glitched program did not return.

\---

_Somehow, I am still here. Everything else is long gone... but I remain._

He knelt on the ground. As usual, the voxels gave slightly to show the electricity crackling between them in response to his movement disrupting the unstable environment. There were no other programs, no system to protect, no steady transfer of data between way points... Dyson’s very function had ceased to exist. 

Likely he had outlived his purpose long before this moment; nevertheless, he had persisted. Whatever this was around him, that remained of his once robust system... It was his domain now, and so he wandered it and sought to protect it.

That had proven to be futile. This environment was in a stagnated state. In and of itself it served no purpose. 

The soldier closed his eyes and powered himself down. 

\---

“Yoo-hoo! Program! Rise and shine! You with me?”

The voice seemed inappropriately enthusiastic - it may have belonged to an eager beta. Slowly, Dyson regained sensory perception of the world around him. It felt different - more... solid, more connected. He opened his eyes.

He found himself in an office space with furniture that he would have described as unusual, if not impractical. Near the corner, leaning against a wall, stood a slender, masculine form with unkempt hair, wearing a jacket that was open down the front with a single vertical circuit on one side. 

“Well, hello there! Name’s Flynn. I built this place-- well, it’s still a work in progress... Can you give me your designation and function?” 

“Dyson. Security and Antivirus, Server 2426.”

Flynn ran one hand through his hair as he looked at the security program, eyes alight with the manic energy that drove his ingenuity, a small smile on his face. “Well, congratulations, Dyson. You’re gonna get to experience a whole new life on the Grid! We’re gonna make this place a paradise for programs and Users alike.”

The User paused for a moment to catch his breath. “You’re pretty lucky, you know... I pulled you off a hard drive that had been in storage gathering dust for who knows how long. Maintenance was cleaning up, doing inventory and they were gonna throw it away. Whole thing was pretty much gone, damaged, corrupted... You just happened to be on the only partition left that was remotely intact, and you were the only salvageable program. Ah, well, come with me, let’s get to work!”

Flynn opened the door and stepped out of the office. Dyson followed, silently, obediently. His eyes were trained straight ahead and he took perfectly coordinated, paced strides. He didn’t understand the meaning of most of the words Flynn had spoken, and he didn’t dare ask.

In the hallway, he was greeted by a taller program, one who wore a white grid-suit instead of the usual dark colors. This program had a readily noticeable and distinctive bit of circuitry across his chest - four squares arranged in the shape of a “T,” surrounded by a circle.

“Dyson, this is Tron. He’s my chief of security.” Flynn waved his hand in a casual gesture. “Show him around! You know what to do. I’ve got to get back, Alan’s already pissed at me for being late to two meetings this week.” 

Flynn turned and walked nonchalantly away as Tron nodded his head in greeting. “Welcome, Dyson. Let’s go have a look around.” 

Tron conducted himself in more of the composed, rigid manner that Dyson was accustomed to. Dyson followed him outside, and paused to look around... The architecture, the construction of this Grid was incredible. 

_And I will be absolutely certain that no harm comes to this new system-- whatever it takes..._


End file.
